


The Affair

by nachan00



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Family Drama, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachan00/pseuds/nachan00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all began with the return of the Hales to the Park. Cursed with an unrequited love and precarious prospects he cannot deviate from, Stiles soon discovers he is not alone in his misery and that whatever future there is for him and Beacon Hills, it cannot escape the grasp of old family feuds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rector's Son

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 18th/19th century AU that is long overdue to my obsession with it, not to mention my Sterek tendencies. There will be no supernatural things involved so no werewolves. Everyone is human here. This is a straight period drama thing. Hope you enjoy it.

It all began with the return of the Hales to the Park. In the sixteen years it had stood vacant above the finest land of Beacon Hills, the imposing architectural building had never lost an ounce of its elegance, surrounded by a long range of woods where a natural stream took part in the overwhelming beauty of the place. Its higher ground provided a splendorous view of the valley below, turning the main building into the actual beacon of the town. The house's white stone shone bright during the day and kept company to the wanderers at night, its eerie glow borrowed from the moon. Stiles had always thought it more ominous than beautiful, but he kept his opinions to himself. The fact Hale Park had been a desolate place devoid of any life for almost the entirety of his life gave no room to any other joyful fancy. Even now he gazed at it and only saw a vast wilderness looming over him like a menace. He could only hope the presence of the family would change it for the better. Rumor had it the Hales had decided to settle there at last after their eldest daughter's terrible debut into society.

The news had spread around the town like wildfire and everyone was yapping about the Hales from sunrise to sun down, how rich they were, how much richer they must be now, how shocking that their eldest girl had turned so untamed in adulthood. Stiles was near the limits of his patience with all the gossip. He must have heard at least two dozen different accounts of the Hales' past, some more gruesome than the backyard of the butcher. He was tackled with fifty new theories on their heritage each day and he could barely keep it together at Sundays. For him more than most, such a flurry of idle talk was entertaining occasionally, maybe even agreeable, but two weeks after the Hales arrival it had started to become unbearable. One could not blame Stiles's bad disposition, nor his complete exhaustion concerning the topic for his father was the rector and every woman in town refused to leave church without a new piece of information.

“I think I begin to understand the appeal of Crucifixion” Stiles told his father in jest as they walked home from that morning's service. The rector turned a disapproving eye on him but acquiesced.

“I told you to stop misappropriating the Bible, son. What will the parishioners think?”

“That I am very devoted to the holy texts” he replied gravely.

The rector opened his mouth to protest but Stiles gave his shoulder a squeeze and fled before a serious scolding could unfold.

“I'll be back before supper!” he added already ten yards away. His father sighed and was left alone to proceed with his house calls.

Stiles ran down the rectory fields surrounding the church and headed towards his best friend's house, the Chief Inspector's son, Scott Mccall. He had promised his father he would help the curator Mr. Harris plow the fields that evening, but Mr. Harris joyous personality was all the incentive Stiles needed to skip his duties or, at least, to postpone them. The weight of the cart and the calluses on his palms could wait til later. Right now all Stiles wanted was to vent out some frustration about the Hale phenomena and to see, if luck would have it, the only balm to his eyes and soul, a red haired goddess, Lydia Martin.

He crossed the Mccalls' front garden and knocked. One minute passed without reply, so he decided to go around and enter by the servant's door. A sweet scent lingered in the air, enticing any visitor to come inside and taste the food. When he stepped into the kitchen the maid Emily dropped the pan she was cleaning and reproached him immediately.

“Stiles! How many times has the mistress told you to enter by the front door! You scared me half to death!” she said exasperated, catching her breath.

“Apologies Emily, but I did knock and waited a good five minutes before using the back. No one came so-”

“Well, _I_ did, but when I opened the door there was only the wind for me to invite in” a grave though gentle voice said behind him. Stiles turned around to see Melissa Mccall standing there with arms crossed over her chest.

“Good evening Mrs. Mc-”

“Stiles how many times have I told not to go through the servant's door? You are the rector's son for God's sake! And you said five minutes? I was in the drawing room and it certainly didn't take me five minutes to get to the door”

“It's okay Mrs. Mccall, I am actually in a hurry so-” Stiles tried to evade another lesson on manners but Mrs. Mccall blocked his passage.

“If you're looking for my son he has already dashed away for another evening at the Argents” she said with a sigh “I barely saw him at church. I believe he sat at the back again so he could scamper away more easily and tackle the poor girl”

Stiles smiled at her cunning guess “I too sympathize with the alarming need to run away from the house of God but for totally different reasons” he wanted to say, yet he saved the line for his thoughts.

“You want to stay for tea? Emily is baking the most amazing butter cake”

“No thank you Mrs. Mccall, I'm on a matter of urgent er... business. I really need to go, but save me some butter cake if you please Emily” he was already by the back door when Mrs. Mccall strode after him.

“Really Stiles, how much does it take for you to use the front door! Emily please cut some of that butter cake when you finish and wrap it for the rector and his son”

Stiles left the Mccalls house and headed to the the Argents. His patience was nearing its limits, but he believed the walk might actually do him some good. He didn't know if he was jealous of Scott and his new found love, requited love mind you, or if he was just in a bad mood from the incessant two week's gossip weighting him down. All he had ever known was stealing glances at Lydia Martin at church, spending his plowing hours making up possible conversations in his head and then mustering up all his courage outside the linen's shop to go talk to her. Needless to say the results were nothing short of failures. The fact she was deeply in love with Jackson Whittemore didn't exactly pave way for opportunities. Nevertheless, Stiles was far from resigned to his fate. The harder it got the stronger he felt for her, very much like someone who yearns for that which he can never have. Stiles was simply too desperate to see the truth.

The Argents' maid let him in and instructed him to wait in the hall. It was not Stiles' first visit there, he had gone with Scott two other times before. The first he had regretted completely. Mrs. Argent had been the one to receive him and he had spent two hours that night trying to fall asleep. Her piercing gaze and barely colored eyes were not what Stiles could call welcoming, unless he was a prey in a den of wolves. Thus his reluctance to go there a second time was understandable. However, once he saw Lydia Martin in the parlour sitting next to Allison Argent looking exquisite, he had decided that no pair of menacing eyes could stop him from paying a visit again. He had not been able to utter two syllables together as her gaze fell on him, but at least they had shared a room.

“The ladies and gentleman await you in the parlour” the maid told him, rescuing Stiles from his recollections. He followed after her and walked into the parlour. His heart raced at the plural “ladies” and then he felt the air catch in his throat once he saw Lydia's red curls illuminating the room.

“Mr. Stilinski good evening, what do we owe the abruptness of your call?” Mrs. Argent's voice was dry and icy. Stiles didn't need to look at her to feel her gaze digging deep into his soul. He turned towards her nonetheless and greeted her.

“Good evening, Mrs. Argent, did you enjoy today's service?”

“Yes, indeed, I very much enjoy the rector's sermons, though I must say the curator Mr. Harris shows much promise” she replied. She sat with her back straight in a big armchair by the hearth, as if her whole frame had been chiseled out of marble. In a pillowed chair by her side sat his friend Scott, looking as cheerful as ever, though Stiles could discern some weariness fixed under his eyes. In front of him sat Allison Argent and Lydia Martin in the sofa. Allison solemn but with a slight smile on her lips, and Lydia looking beautiful, her garish red hair giving life to the stern room. Mrs. Argent turned her head slowly towards them and both girls nodded in agreement.

“Truly, mother”

“Mr. Harris' sermons are always well articulated and his Latin is excellent” Lydia added.

“You are right dear Lydia. It's rare to see such a gift with Latin, don't you agree Mr. Stilinski?”

Choosing between Lydia and Mr. Harris was easy, but Stiles reminded himself to be careful since Lydia's words had all but come out of Mrs. Argent's mouth. Her tea parties were but a simple pretense to plant her own ideals in the minds of any young guest she received at her house.

“Yes, Mr. Harris's Latin is impressive" Stiles agreed "You should be given the opportunity to see him enact the most astounding texts while he plows those fields by the-”

“Well, Stiles has benefited a lot from Mr. Harris's instruction, not only in Latin but other languages as well” Scott interrupted before any further damage could be done. Mrs. Argent glanced at him with some disdain but was relentless in her pursue of the subject.

“Oh” her surprise was so superficial Stiles felt it crawling his skin “And what other languages has Mr. Harris taught you, Mr. Stilinski? Greek? German? You must be acquainted with French already”

“I am indeed, but I may not vouch for Mr. Harris's French as well as you-”

“Mrs. Argent” Scott got up and smiled at the ladies “I am sure Stiles has matters to discuss with me which would bore you to death. We'll be on our way”

“Absolutely not. I would love to help you in any kind of matter. My counsel is renowned throughout the country”

The two girls remained silent, Allison looking at the floor and Lydia surveying the conversation with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Thank you very much Mrs. Argent, but I must insist” Scott persisted.

“Yes, I have to meet my father at the rectory by the by. I'm afraid we'll have to leave you”

Mrs. Argent dismissed them with a cold glance and they were ushered out of the room after the proper curtsies. Once they left the gates of Argent Manor behind them, Stiles and Scott were able to breath again.

“I swear to God, I don't understand why you keep torturing yourself like this. Coming to her evening tea every other day and sitting there listening to that patronizing tone the entire time. In fact, I'm completely amazed she hasn't banned you from calling altogether. She knows why you go there, you know?”

“I know” Scott smiled and tried to hide his embarrassment “But there's no other way to see Allison. I can't stalk her every time she goes out of the house, can I?”

“No, you certainly cannot. Inside there's Mrs. Argent, but outside there's _Mr_. Argent. Let the devil come and choose between the two of them. It makes me wonder how they could conceive someone so sane and ordinary like-”

Scott stopped dead in his tracks “Ordinary? Are you saying Allison Argent is just some ordinary girl?”

“To me she is” Stiles replied with a chuckle “And you be glad I think it so!” he teased.

“You don't have the morals to judge me either. It's the second time you go there to see Lydia Martin”

“Wrong my friend, first time I saw her there was a surprise and today I didn't really expect her to be paying calls, so I did not come deliberately to see her-”

“You are delusional Stiles” Scott put an arm around his neck “But I'll indulge you”

“Thank you very much”

They were now near the town market, very close to Doctor Deaton's clinic where Scott was currently working and pursuing a timid career in medicine.

“What did you want to speak about any way? It seems I was wrong when I said you had come to meet me?” Scott asked him. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Partially, yes. I just wanted to have a nice chat before being thrown together with Mr. Harris the whole afternoon. You know just how delightful _that_ is. We're going to finish plowing those fields and then I have to help my father with some transcriptions. I guess I just ended up robbing you of some precious minutes with Allison Argent for nothing, I'm sorry”

“Don't apologize. Despite what it may look, I'm not overly fond of Mrs. Argent's company either. And if you need me I'm always here for you”

Stiles could not fight a smile and he looked upon his friend with gratitude.

“You know I'm losing my mind with all those old ladies chattering about the Hales, right?” Stiles tried to be careful and not open the latch to his feelings of frustration all at once.

“I'm aware, but now with the ball approaching neither of us can really help it. It's one of the reasons why I'm grateful you decided to come look for me at the Argents and put an end to my tea time. Allison and Lydia could barely contain themselves or speak about anything else other than the ball, the ribbons they were planning to buy, the dresses, the people who would attend. I feared for a moment they would use me as a model and dress me up”

Stiles could not help stifling his laughter “That would be a sight to behold”

“Yes, you go on and joke about it”

“Silly matters aside, are you going to the ball? Surely your father was invited?” Stiles inquired.

“He did receive an invitation. My mother has been really busy buying the fabrics and making new waistcoats for us. I told her to get herself a new dress but she doesn't listen. Says any old thing will do her and that the Hales will pay no heed since they are not the disagreeable snobs everybody thinks they are”

Stiles sighed so he would not roll his eyes into oblivion “At this point, I don't know whether I'm madly curious about forming my own opinions on them or just not interested in knowing them at all”

“I'm sure you won't miss it for the world. Besides it gives your father all the excuses he needs to get you out of the rectory and near young attractive potential matches” Scott remarked with a grin.

“He really wants to marry me off, doesn't he?”

“I think he just knows how hopeless the Lydia Martin case is” Scott said and retreated to the clinic to escape Stiles' indignation.

 

Mr. Harris was waiting for Stiles by the small storage building annexed to the stable. He was looking over the fields below him with a nonchalant expression and a Bible clutched in his hand. Stiles raised an eyebrow in alarm and prepared himself for half an hour of sermon.

“Ah, Mr. Stilinski” his name rolled out of Mr. Harris mouth coated in derision “I see God's gift of memory is wholly wasted on you. You're late”

“Yes I am Mr. Harris, but I believe God has not forsaken you nor your mercy. I am sorry” Stiles answered, not bothering to glance upon Mr. Harris' flared nostrils and walking past him with his chin up. He entered the storage room and put on his work clothes and boots half in darkness. He could see Mr. Harris' shadow by the door and soon he understood where all his earlier suspicion had come from. It was unusual for Mr. Harris to simply wait for him by the fields. Whenever Stiles was late he tended to wait for him by the church so both could wallow half an hour in of prayer, to ask God for His forgiveness.

“Mr. Stilinski bring the horse cart with you, we'll start on the east end. Also, I have to leave early to pay a call on Mrs. Argent. I just received her note fifteen minutes ago and she claims needing my counsel in some household matters. She knows how my counsel is of the utmost importance-”

“After her own” Stiles mumbled, stretching out his socks.

“Excuse me?”

“Significant counsel certainly Mr. Harris”

“Well, rather!” Mr. Harris interjected “I leave whatever remains of God's work for you to do afterward” he continued. Stiles was caught by surprise.

“But we have to finish it today, you don't mean I am to do all of it?!”

“Mr. Stilinski if you had arrived on time we might have half the work done by now” Mr. Harris rebuked triumphantly. He put his Bible in a small shelf next to the door and grabbed his straw hat.

“Mr. Harris I have those transcriptions to do before supper. I told my father I would help him-”

“I have already sent word to the rector Mr. Stilinski. Instead of disregarding your duties, perhaps next time you should remind yourself of their precedence first”

Mr. Harris disappeared to the eastern area of the fields with a smug expression on his face, leaving Stiles without plausible retort. He was too frustrated to handle any further exchange of scorn between himself and the cynic curator, yet he would have gladly carried it on out of spite.

They had already plowed the southern area that morning, which was the farthest from the church and the biggest portion of the rectory fields. It had required the employment of the peasants who lived nearby and depended on both the work wages and the crops. At the moment, the smaller portion north awaited them. It was the one closest to the churchyard and the one they partially lived on. From there Hale Park could be seen looming on the other side of town. Stiles found it an unusual sight at dusk after finishing his work. Light shone through the mansion's windows and threw a gentle glow over the dark woods that had so often terrorized him in his childhood.


	2. The Heir

The day of the ball at Hale Park dawned bleak and cloudy. Stiles couldn't help but find it fitting given his misconceived idea of the place. He felt somewhat avenged since the forthcoming rain would most certainly ruin the expectations of all the prattlers that had been filling the town with ceaseless enthusiasm over the Hales and their ball. Nevertheless, Stiles was not completely ungrateful. He appreciated the occasion as something that would restore balance to the town's mood and return it to it's usual state of complacency. He even felt a tiny spark of excitement begin to grow in some dark recess of his mind as the day approached. He carried it throughout his morning duties at the rectory, accomplishing his tasks with greater ease and commitment. The rectory fields were now ready for sowing and Stiles had been charged with giving new instructions to the workers which he did accordingly. The transcriptions he had failed to do the other day were also resumed and finished. He was able to join the Mccalls for tea, where Scott informed him that Mrs. Argent was not receiving any calls that day because of her family's preparations for the ball. Stiles was relieved he did not have to endure another evening at the mercy of her sharp remarks, yet he always regretted missing a moment during which he might have had the pleasure of Lydia Martin's company. In any way, not seeing her before the ball only heightened his anxiety and doubled his excitement. 

“Son, please, stop fidgeting with your necktie and be done with it” Father Stilinski grumbled by his son's door “For the love of God... did you see my black frock? Are you hearing me, son?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I didn't see it, but try the closet” Stiles replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You keep jesting young man and we'll see about it. Oh- yes here it is! Thank you son!” the rector's voice echoed through the hall contentedly then the sound of his footsteps resumed and he was once again standing impatiently by Stiles's door “I'm glad you went with the black tailcoat instead of the clerical fashion. You leave that one to me” he simpered, pointing to his white collar with a thumb. Stiles sighed and kept struggling with the turns of his bow tie.

“The day you see me scampering about in a cassock is still to be born” Stiles replied.

“It's not so far as the day we turn up at the Hales for the ball” Father Stilinski said. Stiles scoffed and gave up, throwing his arms down in frustration. His hands trembled.

“Give it here son” Stiles stepped back and allowed his father to take the necktie in his hands, freeing him from the hopeless effort of fastening it.

“I could do it-” Stiles began lamely, but the rector interrupted him.

“Next time then. We are too late as it is son, you have all the bow ties in the world to-”

“No, I meant the cassock. Well, not the cassock per se, I cannot sew obviously, nor can I- I meant...” Stiles's weak voice and unconvincing manner were not at all encouraged by his fumbling with the words. He turned towards his desk and eyed the drawer where he kept his scribblings locked and hidden from the world. He was convinced they would never amount to much and he knew that regardless of his interest in pursuing writing, the rectory would always be put first, with its needs awaiting management. Stiles's future career was a subject which tended to murder any conversation he and his father had, thus Father Stilinski, determined to maintain the prospects of a good evening, quickly put an end to it.

“Stiles, out of mutual good-will, let's not indulge ourselves in this matter today. We have a long evening ahead and it's better if we save our tempers for other battles, don't you agree?”

Stiles frowned, though he agreed wholeheartedly once he reminded himself of what awaited him. His father's constant dodging of the subject angered him, but he couldn't deny the ball would demand a lot of his patience and composure. He followed his father out of the room and both got on the chaise without further ado.

The masterful glib talk of the ladies of Beacon Hills did not turn out as deficient as Stiles had predicted it to be. A multitude of people had been invited to the ball. Among its numbers were not only wealthy persons of the country, but also old well-established families whose ties to the Hales were less frivolous than those of some aristocratic houses. The rector and his son were one such example.

The slope to the Park hosted a parade of carriages, some ostentatious, others simple gigs. Stiles was already rolling his eyes when they came upon their first drawback. The chaise in front of theirs got one wheel stuck in a crevice and the driver was arguing with the footman about the way by which they were to solve their situation.

“What's going on out there, why did we stop?”

“The wheel of Ms. Morrell's chaise stuck right ahead, sir” came the muffled voice of their driver. Father Stilinski sighed and shook his head in denial.

“Must be God's wish we don't get there today...” he muttered “Go help them out and get this thing running, they're obstructing the entire road”

Stiles poked his head out of the chaise and looked at the queue forming behind them. He regretted this decision once he saw the Whittemore's barouche not far behind. He noticed it not because it was an awe-inspiring vehicle but because an awe-inspiring red headed figure sat there, her back and bare neck turned towards him. Stiles only had time to memorize the way Lydia's red curls fell neatly by her shoulders when he and Jackson Whittemore's smug face locked stares. Jackson's conceited smile seemed to have been chiseled out of his mouth at birth. Stiles could not for the life of him remember a sole instance where he had met him with any other expression on his face, perhaps disdain once or twice. Unfortunately, this time it wasn't any different and the blue-eyed jackal sat looking front, right into Stiles's eyes. He quickly ducked back inside his chaise and sank as deep as he could in his seat, decided to spend the rest of the ride in serious meditation so as to ignore Whittemore's entire existence. The rector was too agitated with the carriage situation to humor Stiles's sudden aloofness. His son couldn't be more grateful.

The sun had set completely by the time they reached the Park. Stiles was doing fine altogether, trying to shun out the merry cries from the party behind him and the self-deprecating whispers of his mind. He followed his father up the main steps, barely acknowledging the footman who had closed the door behind him. The grandeur of the place, its pure white marble and opulent decoration also escaped him. Stiles's mind had fallen into total disorder by Lydia and Jackson's earlier appearance. He couldn't help but feel worthless. He had a bad habit of doing hasty and rash comparisons between himself and the Whittemore heir apparent. The result was never the hopeful variable he wanted. The only time he felt the odds truly in his favor was when he was on his knees praying.

His attention was brought back to reality when they entered the ballroom. Music soothed his ears and rich colors burst into view as well as couples dancing and people chatting. The ballroom was the biggest Stiles had ever seen, much less been in. Heavy ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, its crystals providing a special glittering glow. Walls were furnished with beautiful tapestries and here and there stood a statue or a painting. For a moment Stiles was overwhelmed by all the wealth. He was not completely unaccustomed to art given his relationship with the church, but at a private level it astounded him. He even looked behind to take a peek at the disregarded hall he had just crossed but all he saw was a crowd of people waiting to enter, and, to avoid seeing in its midst the most wretched of couples once again, he turned back. By then his father had disappeared from his previous spot at his side and Stiles was left alone to fend for himself. He felt dread rise up his throat and the first thing he thought of doing was find a cozy and peaceful corner where he could regain control. If he stayed there rooted to the floor he would soon be obliged to partake in all the dancing.

“Hallo, Stiles!” a cheerful voice called him from the other side of the room. Stiles knew it wouldn't take long for Scott to find him, yet it came as a relief all the same, even with Allison Argent following behind looking flawless.

“I met your father just now!” Scott told him beaming.

“I looked around once and lost him, how big is this place, uh? Allison, how do you do?”

“I'm fine, thank you. Good evening to you” she smiled.

“So!” Scott exclaimed excitedly “Met the family yet?”

“No, not yet, my father must be looking for me for that particular privilege” Stiles replied dryly.

“Allison! Allison!” Lydia's voice broke through the chatter around them. Stiles felt something tighten around his heart and instead of looking at her, he chose to examine the marvelous wooden floor beneath his feet. His evasive maneuver was destined to be unsuccessful though, for soon afterward the hem of a green brocade dress appeared right next to his black shoes and Stiles was sure Allison's dress was of a lighter color.

“Oh my, have you seen Lady Hale's dress? Mama is absolutely appalled. I think it must be some new fashion from the capital” Lydia's voice rang with delight and Allison indulged her excitement.

“I think her dress is quite elegant”

“Indeed! Oh, how I missed a good ball, remember the last one at the Reyeses? Erica Reyes wore that awful blue dress and played the worst piano piece I ever had the misfortune of hearing. Curiously enough I haven't seen her today, I wonder what new dreadful thing she'll be wearing tonight. Oh but I so adore your choice dear, is this the one you were working on the other day?” Lydia asked Allison for a little twirl and both giggled.

Stiles finally managed to look up and Lydia's view was nothing short of bittersweet. It had little sweetness to it because he could see Jackson Whittemore in the distance keeping an eye on her.

“I've already promised Jackson my first and second dances, but I am decided to ruin my shoes tonight. Besides, no girl will want to lose the chance of dancing with the heir, right?”

There was a little pause and both Allison and the boys looked at Lydia reluctantly.

“Who?” it was Scott who broke the silence.

“The heir to all of this!” Lydia exclaimed with a flourish, gesturing towards the entire room.

“Oh yes, yes. Lady Hale's eldest” Allison nodded.

“I though the eldest was a girl?” Stiles asked a bit confused.

“Yes, well, her eldest child is a girl, Laura Hale. Rude to a peril if you want my opinion. There's been terrible gossip about her as you know, but I digress. After her comes the oldest and only son, Derek Hale. He is the heir to the whole estate, some even say he is after his great-uncle’s earldom. The youngest of the family is Cora, we are of the same age”

“I think I met her a while ago by the balcony. Dark dress?”

“Positively her” Lydia confirmed.

Although their conversation consisted of nothing but the usual gossip, Stiles felt quite unaffected by it. He couldn't move his eyes away from Lydia, it was just impossible. He began to picture a turn of events where he actually managed to ask her for a dance and she accepted him. He was saved from leaping to the attempt by Scott who prodded his side with an elbow. Stiles's illusion instantly shattered and Jackson's approach doubled the effect. The latter barely acknowledged Stiles and Scott, only using words when addressing Allison. It was no wonder the wooden floor became unusually interesting again. Fortunately, its contemplation was of short duration. An upbeat tune began playing and Jackson ushered a very complying Lydia to the dance floor, followed by Scott and Allison who took their cue.

“I'll be back after this one” Scott said with an apologetic smile.

“I doubt it” Stiles chuckled. He lingered for a moment to watch the two couples rush to their respective places in the dance circle. He didn't stay for the dance itself since it proved to be too sour a show for him look at, so he drew back and went looking for his father. On his way to the balcony he met several familiar faces who greeted him amicably and gave him hints on the rector's whereabouts. One of them happened to be Mrs. Mccall, who after a couple of flattering words was too eager to be of service.

“Last I talked to him he was with my husband, but I think Lady Hale went out to show him the chapel. She ordered it to be refurbished along with some of the oldest chambers of the house. To be honest, after so many years of vacancy it is only natural. This very room must have been in terrible condition, but look at how great it looks now”

“Indeed. I'll look about then”

Stiles thanked her and left, stumbling upon at least three gentlemen before exiting the room. A footman eyed him suspiciously at the door and Stiles had no choice but to keep going through the corridor to hide his embarrassment. It was a careless solution but he managed to lose him after cutting a corner. He breathed a sigh of relief and stopped for a moment to enjoy the quietude away from the bustling ballroom. He found himself in a beautiful corridor, its walls and ceiling too high for his taste since he felt incredibly small bellow them. The long arched windows covering one side of the corridor made it all the more daunting, with the ornamented sconces on the walls providing little light in comparison to the moon. Stiles crossed it somewhat unwillingly, sensing danger at every dark corner. At the end of the corridor he met a curving staircase and it was then he asked himself where he was going and why. He should be back in the ballroom scheming plans and mustering courage to ask Lydia for a dance, or at least indulging himself in some sort of fun. Instead he was exploring the Hale house like a reckless child. He decided to climb down the stairs, intent on finding his father. If there was a chapel anywhere in the estate it would be on the ground-floor.

Stiles ended up in a much narrower corridor than the one he had left, probably in some servants area which was currently deserted. He heard voices and giggles in the distance but saw no one. The eeriness made him feel like he was lost in a maze. But soon enough he returned to the main part of the house. The walls were once again rich in decoration and the floor was strewn with carpets almost as fascinating as the ancient tapestries draped on the walls. He must have passed at least half a dozen rooms by the time he reached a small hall. Its main attributes were a big door to the grounds and two staircases beside it, one that led upstairs and another down to the kitchens. No sign of a chapel whatsoever. This thwarting conclusion prompted Stiles to venture out of the house in his search, but a couple of servants shot out of the kitchen with heavy trays and candlesticks. Stiles would have stepped forth to request their help, but they looked like they needed some assistance themselves. Perhaps it was time to give up on his desperate quest and return to the ballroom. His father would be sure to describe him the chapel in detail and Stiles was not so much interested in the chapel as he was in running away from his insecurities. Hence he made reluctantly for the stairs, accommodating his brain to a new set of low expectations.

Stiles ascent was halted by the big doors opening and a cold gust of wind blowing his tailcoat. A drizzle of rain landed on his face and sprinkled his attire. He cursed softly to himself and tried to wipe away what damp he could. An earful from his father, the most obtuse japes from Jackson Whittemore and, God forbid, Mrs. Argent's disgusted face awaited him. The sole consolation he was able to detract at the moment was witnessing the state of the poor sod who had just come in. He seemed to be drenched to the bone, with water dripping at the hem of his frock. His hair was too disheveled for Stiles to discern the expression on his face but he could tell whoever it was wasn't happy with the situation.

“Hey there fellow” Stiles wasn't sure he had been noticed but he offered his help nonetheless. Wet frock or no frock, that wind had felt pretty cold “I'll fetch somebody, wait here a moment”

Stiles popped into the kitchens and called the first footman he caught his eyes on.

“Excuse me, there's a man upstairs dripping wet, he just came in. Could you get him maybe a-”

The footman turned whiter at each word Stiles weaved out. He couldn't grasp what the shocking part of the news was but the footman was oblivious to his ignorance. He excused himself and ran past Stiles towards the hall. The latter followed but all he heard was a nervous “This way, sir!” and another “Follow me sir!” before both the footman and the strange man disappeared. Not half a minute had gone by when a bell rang twice and two maids left the kitchen in a hurry. One of them had the courtesy to stop by and address Stiles.

“Need anythin' sir? We already sent them candles up”

“No, it's fine. I'm fine, just a bit lost”

“Follow me then, the party is right upstairs”

Stiles climbed the stairs after her in haste for warmth.

Entering the ballroom Stiles immediately encountered his father engaged in conversation with a tall dark haired woman. Her figure stood out from her peers in a remarkable dress that embellished her unusual built and brought out the elegance of her neck and shoulders. It was hardly necessary to guess who she was for she could not be but Lady Talia Hale, the evening's host. Her gaze was more than just paralyzing, encompassing and measuring everything about her with a superior confidence which did not betray her overall serenity and grace. Stiles understood at once why people seemed unable to stop talking about the Hales, weren't Lady Talia subject enough. He also acknowledged the reason his father favored her. Her presence alone seemed to invite that which was good and worthy. When she turned towards Stiles on account of his father's notice, an almost imperceptible smile came to play upon her lips and Stiles felt incredibly embarrassed and appeased at the same time.

“Son, I've looked everywhere for you. We are just back from the chapel. I think you would have liked to see it. Now you'll make me bother Lady Talia again, what a nuisance-”

“Not at all, it would be my pleasure” she replied “Now Mr. Stilinski, please do introduce us”

“Of course, where are my manners!” the rector exclaimed “Lady Talia, allow me to introduce to you my son, Genim Stilinski. Son, this is Lady Talia Hale first daughter of the late Earl of Hale”

“It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance”

“And mine yours” she said serenely “I had the pleasure of knowing your mother. We were acquainted in our youth. Her father, who was at the time the parish rector was the one to unite me and my husband in holy matrimony. If my memory does not fail me, I believe you were there as well Mr. Stilinski”

“Yes indeed. I remember those arduous times of apprenticeship”

“These days they tend to fall on me” Stiles added with a bitter laugh. Lady Talia looked amused.

“So how have you enjoyed the ball so far? Have you engaged in some dancing?”

“Not yet my lady”

“Saving it for someone special?”

Stiles wasn't able to prevent a guilty smile from appearing, nor to contradict his feelings.

“Would you be interested in two very favorable alternatives perchance?” Lady Talia suggested deviously “I must admit I am a bit partial about them, but at this point I'd rather believe it's my desperation guiding me. My daughters have an uncommon disposition for any kind of social engagement, one such that compels me to throw these dances almost as a punishment” she said sadly “Not the best advertisement I'd say”

“I may still be persuaded” Stiles said encouragingly. Lady Talia sighed and took her cue contentedly.

Stiles tried his best not to jest and listened to her motherly tirade. It was better than to be helplessly abandoned in the middle of the ballroom, yearning miserably for a partner he could not get. Moreover, there was a sweetness to Lady Talia that reminded Stiles of his own mother and, though the remembrance brought him pain, he appreciated the moment regardless.

“They are very good girls, I made sure of that, and lovely dancers too. It's just their tempers I have difficulty in taming. Something their brother certainly did not burden me with” Lady Talia added firmly.

At this moment a young and paler version of herself emerged beside her, erroneously leading Stiles to believe someone had conjured a magical mirror and put it there. However, upon close inspection he noted small differences in the eyes and mouth. Given her style of dress the young woman had to be Lady Talia's eldest, Laura Hale.

“My dear you must have the sharpest hearing”

“That or you have the shortest and dullest supply of small talk to be constantly ranting about your children”

“What falsehood! Speaking about my children is certainly not small talk! And I was just describing yours and your sister's many talents to Mr. Stilinski and his son Ge-”

“Stiles, my lad-” His father's glare shut him up before he could finish.

“Yes, Mr. Stilinski?” Lady Talia seemed confused.

“Genim finds his name too formal on all occasions. He prefers to be called Stiles. It's nonsense to be sure” the rector explained. Lady Talia complied.

“To be sure. I see you are not without your own obstinacy, Mr. Stiles. Maybe I should refrain from acquainting you with my girls, I foresee too much stubbornness mixed together”

Lady Talia and the rector broke into a merry laughter which Stiles and Laura were exempted from joining. After the introductions Laura gave both men a short curtsy and excused herself.

“I have an appointment with the library's dusty shelves, you must excuse me”

“Laura! It should not hurt you to indulge your guests for five minutes” Lady Talia admonished, but her lecture was lost on Laura's impatience. She quickly exited the ball room and was not seen again that evening.

“She has become particularly stubborn since we left the capital. If I sent her to you Mr. Stilinski, do you think you could put some sense in her head? Such behavior has been beyond my comprehension”

“I reckon I could give it a try, but you must be familiar with young troubled hearts my lady. Nothing can cure them”

Stiles sensed a second meaning to the phrase and diverted his eyes to the dance floor where they guiltily fell upon Lydia. Lady Hale's further extrapolation did not reach his ears from there on out, as his whole being became focused on the heavenly sight. Lydia's happy smile was contagious. Stiles felt his own mouth twist into an heartfelt grin. His eyes followed her every step as she exchanged partners and glided across the room. When the dance was finished, her flustered cheeks warmed his chest and Stiles finally gauged total courage. He would at last walk up to her and drop the question. But Lydia's attention was far from his secluded corner. It was directed towards the entrance of the room where a small crowd had gathered looking at one particular subject. At first Stiles disregarded the matter entirely because Lydia could only emote as she currently did towards one person and Stiles had had enough of Jackson for a day. Nonetheless, her sparkling eye had more to it than its usual simple blinded passion, it had curiosity, surprise, awe. Stiles inevitably followed her stare and discovered the fixed point where it came to rest. It was a person, a gentleman Stiles had never seen before, certainly no one he recognized from Beacon Hills, nor from any part of the surrounding country. He could infer nothing else from that distance, but he already felt a special distaste for the man. It was only natural, since whoever managed to catch Lydia's attention in that way became instant prey to Stiles's wrath. But it was just as easy to feel relieved because, for the slightest of moments, Jackson Whittemore had become irrelevant and Stiles could bestow approbation on any man capable of such a feat. The feeling was nevertheless fleeting.

“If it were not improper, and seeing as my daughters have proven themselves irreconcilable with the social norm at balls, I would suggest you to dance with my son. Very superior dancing and manners” Lady Talia whispered by Stiles's ear. In ordinary circumstances he would have joined her witticism, but presently he was unable to. Lady Talia seemed unaffected by his silence and waited patiently for her son to come to her. Meanwhile, Stiles grew motionless watching the Hale heir cross the room with people parting at his passing. Some ladies gasped and a group of young men mumbled conspicuously. Stiles tasted his long forgotten dread back in his tongue. That well-built frame, the black frock perfectly adjusted to his chest and tight at his back, the dark hair combed neatly in place, he looked like a different man but Stiles was certain he was the same one he had seen dripping wet not half an hour ago.

“Mother”

“I wasn't expecting you dear. How was your journey?” Lady Talia gave him her hand and he kissed it gently.

“Bearable” he replied shortly.

Stiles foresaw a snort and prevented it. To call bearable coming home without one dry article of clothing was comical, but to say it with such a serious face was simply hilarious.

“Well, let me present to you an old friend, Mr. Stilinski, he is the rector of the parish” Lady Talia said with a small gesture “Mr. Stilinski, this is my son Derek”

“Heard a lot about you Mr. Hale, it's a pleasure”

They shook hands vigorously. Stiles already felt his wrists weakening and his hands fall to the floor.

“This young man here is Mr. Stilinski's son with whom I just had the most agreeable conversation this evening” Lady Talia said, turning towards him. Having hers and his father's eyes on him was something that barely troubled Stiles when compared to Derek Hale's orbs fixated on him. At close proximity his face was quite intimidating, especially his eyes which seemed to be a flawless copy of his mother's yet much more intense. Stiles failed to hold his gaze and stretched out his hand instead. He forced himself to exhale as Derek shook it, feeling strangely out of breath. He didn't know whether to mention their earlier encounter for fear of being completely overlooked. Fortunately for him, Lady Talia spared him the worry, taking her son with her to engage some other guests and saving Stiles from looking like a fool.

The rest of the ball went by in a breeze after what Stiles came to consider its highest point. Lydia was as inaccessible as ever, Jackson as contemptible and Scott as sympathetic. Stiles managed to get two dances out of an old childhood friend, Heather and he even danced with Cora Hale to assuage her mother. He found her quite normal, if only a bit detached. Like the rest of her siblings, she was reserved, spoke little and looked listless. Her brother was probably the one who hid it better on account of his duties as the family heir. He smiled but his eyes did not move. He gave compliments but they were few and empty of true meaning. He danced very little, once with his mother and another with his younger sister. He retired shortly after Cora did, expressing exhaustion after his long journey. The last Hale Stiles saw was the matriarch when he and his father left close to midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I always cram so much nonsense into a chapter, it was meant to be more sterek'y but I guess I'll eventually get there. Thanks for reading!


End file.
